


Mr. Crowley and the Rather Unpleasant Flapjack

by Shayheyred



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayheyred/pseuds/Shayheyred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley's breakfast does not agree with him...nor does Aziraphale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Crowley and the Rather Unpleasant Flapjack

**Author's Note:**

> From comment-fic to a post by Daegaer
> 
> * * *

"Well that's a devil of a thing, if you'll pardon the expression."

Aziraphale blinked over his teacup. "What's that, dear boy?"

In reply, Crowley simply curled his lip in distaste and pointed his fork at the plate in a gesture that suggested pitchforks and recalcitrant human souls.

Aziraphale blinked quizzically. "What?"

"Oh for--!" Crowley gestured more vividly. "Right there. Can't you see it? Look!"

And Aziraphale did look, following the line of Crowley's fork. A table. A plate. A single flapjack lying in a congealing pool of oil and jam. "Ah, yes, I concur. It doesn't really look enticing. Order something else then."

"'Something else,'" muttered Crowley. "It’s repulsive!"

"I can't think why you're so upset."

"It's unpleasant to look at! It's...disturbing. Disgusting. It's put me right off my breakfast."

"Well, if you will order a flapjack in Italy, what do you expect?"

"You’re taking this with an excessive calm. Imagine, if you will, staring at a plate of bangers and mash and seeing the image of Adolf Hitler. Stalin! _Osama bin Laden_!"

"All this fuss." Aziraphale sighed. "Low blood sugar.”

“I don’t _have_ blood.”

“Let’s order you a nice _sfogliatelle._ "

Crowley grunted. "No. I want a flapjack."

"Stubborn."

"Hmph." Still muttering under his breath, Crowley picked up his knife, glared at his plate once more and deliberately swiveled it 180 degrees. "That's a bit better." Aziraphale stared at him wordlessly.

Crowley's knife and fork hovered over the flapjack.

Aziraphale shook his head in amusement at his companion's behavior. He looked at the flapjack again. All right, perhaps it was a bit soggy, but—

“Oh my goodness!”

Crowley poked the tip of his knife into the flapjack.

" _No_!" With blazing speed Aziraphale gathered the plate and its contents to his breast. "Good heavens no, Crowley! You can't deface it! It's a sign!"

"It's a flapjack."

"Hush," said Aziraphale looking fondly at the flapjack -- or as it would henceforth be known, "the Flapjack of Turin"-- "to eat such a treasure would be most unpleasant indeed."


End file.
